Just Another Night
by goreygirl
Summary: A possible explination for why Draco is such a messed up kid.


I got inspired to write this after watching the second movie _four times_ because my cousin wanted to. I guess my muse is morbid when she gets bored. (And yes, I have read the books. All of them. But this is more based on the movie.) By the way, this takes place around their third year. Oh, yeah, I don't own any of these characters. Not that you would believe me if I said I did. I just used what was there. Please review. 

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Just Another Night

Draco stood with his hands pressed against the wall, trying not to cry out. The clammy cold chilling his palmscontrasted with the burning inside as he was driven into. He bit his lips together and squeezed his eyes shut so that the tears could not fall. It would be less painful if he allowed his body to move with the jarring rhythm, but instead he braced himself with his arms, struggling to stay still. But even his locked elbows could not keep his body from jerking forward as he was slammed into harder. His teeth bit into his lips and he tasted blood. A smooth hand slid between his legs as the pace increased. Long fingers wrapped around him and began stroking_._ Hard. Draco ground his teeth against a shout, but could no longer keep the tears from spillingdown his cheeks. He hung his head as his body reacted of its own accord, and waited for it to end. For everything to end. He came, raw fingers digging into the wall. Still it went on. His legs began to quiver and his muscles ached. His knees were dangerously close to giving out. And then it finally stopped, with one last jolt, hard enough to buckle his elbows and slam him into the rough stone. Then he was withdrawn from and the presence behind him was gone. He was left cold and sore_,_ liquid seeping back down his inner thighs. He forced himself to stay standing and not crumple to the floor. Slowly, he opened his eyes, looking at the stone slabs in front of him. Streaks of blood stained the rock where his fingers had been.

"You are dismissed," said a cool voice behind him. Draco forced himself to turn and look at the sallow, hook-nosed man. 

"Yes, sir," he managed dully. He turned back to the wall to dress, not looking at the professor again. He could feel the man's gaze on his back as he pushed open the door, and he turned down the empty corridor blankly, not thinking. Reality hit him in the form of his reflection in a passing window: bruised eyes, pallid skin, bleeding lips. His stomach turned and he stumbled to the restroom, falling to his knees at the first cubicle. He heaved painfully, until bile burned his throat and he had nothing left. Then he crawled to the showers and twisted on the faucet. Scalding water hit Draco full blast, and returned some energy to him. He got to his feet, tugging off his clothes and letting the water beat at his bare skin, burning away the lingering feel of the man. He grabbed a wash brush and began scrubbing at his body, scraping off anything he had touched. Trying to get the man's feel off of him, out of him. He rubbed violently, leaving himself raw and stinging. When the pain was too much and blood started to surface, trickling down his body in crimson rivulets, Draco stopped, standing limply and letting the brush fall from his hand. Breathing hard, he sank to the tiles, sitting with head bent as the water continued to wash over him. He watched his blood swirl patterns as it flowed down the drain. His breathing slowly returned to normal, and he turned his face up to the spray, running his fingers through his hair. 

He turned off the faucet and sat there staring blindly at the shower head_._ He did not move until the chill of the cold room began to soak into his body. He grabbed a towel and dried off quickly, wringing out is pants and slipping them on. He picked up the rest of his soaked uniform and walked towards the doors. He stopped in front of the mirrors, turning to look at his reflection again. Colorless lips, and damp silver-white hair hanging raggedly in front of his eyes. Cold, spiteful, self-loathing eyes. He closed them, erasing the view. But the image remained in his mind. Footsteps echoed on the floor behind him, and Draco's eyes flew open. There was another boy on the reflection now. A slim boy with messy dark hair and round glasses framing surprised green eyes. Their gazes met in the mirror and with blinding force, Draco suddenly wanted to tear those emerald eyes out of the boy's face. "Get out!" Draco snapped through gritted teeth. The boy stood, to stunned to move. His gaze involuntarily flicked to Draco's bloody chest. Draco whirled around, yanking on his shirt and holding it closed in the front. "Get Out!" he shouted again, looking the boy straight in the eyes. 

"What happened?!" the boy burst out, still staring at him.

"None of your bloody business, Potter." Draco snarled, "Aren't you supposed to be in your dorm?"

"So are you," Harry said defensively.

"I've got a pass," Draco said, holding up the card smugly. "You don't, so you'd better be off to bed now."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Harry snapped.

"It would be a shame if McGonagall was to check your dorm and find your bed empty."

"Don't threaten me! I'm not afraid of you, Malfoy!"

Draco forced his mouth to curve into an unpleasant smile. 

"Right, Potter," he said disdainfully, stalking past the boy and out the door. Hatred clouded his vision, and he made it to his room blindly, collapsing onto his bed. He lay there, clinging to the rage and loathing consuming his mind. For when it was gone, only the pain remained. 

THE END

Yes, I know that they speak really immaturely, but they are little kids. Oh, and loathing does not mean loving. It means hating (in this case hate as in the noun). I'm sure you knew that. And again, please review.


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